


A Ghost of Christmases Past

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Issues, Grief/Mourning, Mild Smut, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: I'm posting this on Christmas but want to add a warning that it's fairly heavy on angst, and grief/mourning, so I guess approach with caution if you're looking for something light or fluffy.Barba opens up about a loss he's never shared with Benson before.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	A Ghost of Christmases Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secret_identity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secret_identity/gifts).



There was a small crocheted tree sitting on top of the bookshelf—about twelve inches tall, made of green yarn with colorful beads spread around to look like lights, it was plump with an abundance of stuffing.

Aside from an unopened present on the coffee table, the handmade tree was the only sign of Christmas in the apartment.

“You take down your decorations already?” Benson asked as Barba closed the door behind her.

She turned to face him and he shot her a look that clearly said they both knew his answer was unnecessary, but he said it anyway: “I didn’t decorate.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the bookshelf, and added, “My _abuelita_ made that.” He seemed about to say something else, but after a moment he glanced at the bag of presents she was carrying and turned away toward the kitchen. “You can throw that on the table, if you want. Drink?”

“Sure. Thanks.” It wasn’t even noon yet, but she’d just dropped Noah off at a birthday party that was going to turn into a sleepover for him and a few of his friends. He’d taken his overnight bag with him, and she wasn't due to pick him up until the following morning.

It was the day after Christmas, and as much as she loved her son, and the holiday, she was grateful for the day of quiet rest after all the previous day's excitement. 

She set her bag of presents on the coffee table, noting that the small gift there—wrapped neatly in pretty blue and silver paper—had her name written on the tag. “Sorry we missed you yesterday,” she said. He’d given her the presents he’d bought for Noah ahead of time, so the boy could open them on Christmas morning, but had declined her invitation to come to breakfast, lunch, or dinner. “Did you spend the day with your mom?”

He joined her in the living room and handed her a glass of wine. She was surprised to note that he had wine, too, forgoing his usual scotch. Now that she was close enough, however, she could see the paleness of his face and the deeper lines around his mouth and eyes.

He read her thoughts easily enough. “I may have imbibed a bit too much last night,” he said with a small, self-conscious roll of his shoulder. His lips twitched in a humorless smile. “Going to have to restock.” He considered and turned to sink down onto the sofa, his wine glass in one hand. “Or give up drinking,” he added. He gestured with his free hand toward the couch and she sat down beside him. “Did you have a nice Christmas?” he asked, sipping his wine as he waited for her response.

“I did,” she said with a smile. “Flew by, you know?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure I ever had the energy that Noah has.”

Barba laughed quietly. “I hope he got everything he wanted.”

“Santa was very generous.” She shot him a pointed look. “Maybe too generous,” she added, because Barba had gotten Noah the expensive Lego set the boy had asked for, the one she’d refused to buy because of the ridiculous cost for a set of tiny blocks that would injure her feet before eventually getting lost. 

“He’s a good kid.” Barba looked at his glass, twirling the wine absently. He seemed somber, but she didn’t want to pry. He would talk to her if he had something he wanted to say. 

“Did you have dinner with your mom?” she asked, thinking it would be a safe and easy topic. She realized she might be wrong when he didn’t immediately answer and a small frown knitted his brow as he stared into his wine.

“We went to Mass,” he finally answered. “Tradition.”

“Right.” She knew about his yearly outing to midnight mass with his mother—and his grandmother, before her death. Benson knew very little else about his holiday rituals or traditions, though. 

“We don’t really…” He cleared his throat, glancing sideways at her. “Holidays are hard,” he said, and she laid a hand on his leg automatically. “For her,” he added. “Missing people who should be there…” He trailed off and sighed before taking a drink. 

“I get that. It must be difficult to be alone, especially after being married for so long. But knowing how close you two are, I assumed you would—”

“My mother loves me,” he said, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. There was one word unspoken, though, one word that she could feel hanging in the air. She was so certain that he was going to say ‘ _but_ ’ that she waited for long moments, waited for him to continue.

He didn’t. Instead, he swallowed half of his wine and grimaced, staring ahead at the dark, silent television. 

“She does,” Benson finally agreed when she realized he wasn’t going to say more.

“I know my mother loves me,” he said, so softly that she wouldn’t have heard him if she weren’t sitting so close to his side. After another long pause, he continued: “But I’m also a reminder.” He turned his head to look at her. “I don’t blame her, you know? I miss him, too.”

“Your father?” she guessed carefully, even though that didn’t feel right. He didn’t talk about his father much, but she knew they’d had a contentious relationship at best. While she was sure he held love in his heart for his father, even if he also hated him a bit, she was also pretty sure that he didn’t spend his holidays mourning that loss.

He gave his head a little shake, but he didn’t look away. He searched her eyes for several seconds, and she could see him deciding whether or not to continue. She wasn’t offended by his hesitance; she knew he trusted her as much as she trusted him, but there were secrets that were difficult to tell even the person you loved most in the world.

“When I was twelve,” he said, but then he paused again and drew a slow breath. He looked down at her hand resting on his thigh. “When I was twelve,” he started again, “I was in our school’s Christmas play. I was the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.” A small, humorless smile touched his lips. “Almost funny, in hindsight,” he said, his tone making it clear there was no humor to be found. “My teacher wanted me to play Fred, or Bob Cratchit. They had the second and third most lines, after Scrooge himself. The ghost of Christmas future didn’t speak, and I think she thought it was a waste of my memorization skills.” His smile was a little more genuine at that, and he looked at Benson.

“I practically begged,” he continued. “The future ghost was so theatrical, so _big_ —I was only a scrawny scrap of a kid, but there was something so thrilling to me about putting on that robe, of exaggerating every movement, no one being able to see my face or hear my voice. That was acting, to me, and I wanted it. I got it. I was so excited. So proud of that performance. There’s a video somewhere, but I’ve never been able to watch it. That night…” He shook his head. She could see the raw pain in his eyes, and her hand tightened on his leg.

“My father was annoyed by the whole thing. My parents and grandparents left after the play, but there was a little afterparty for the cast and other students. I stayed, had too much punch, too many cookies, laughed too hard. We felt like stars that night. It was Christmas Eve, and we had to be home early enough to put on our best Sunday clothes and go to midnight mass. 

“Eddie and I were in the backseat with another friend of ours, Albert. Albert’s older sister Tracy was in the front seat. It was her car, but Ricky was driving. They were dating, had been for about six months. Ricky was sixteen and had had his license for a few weeks. He always drove her car whenever they went anywhere, even though she was almost eighteen and had been driving a lot longer.”

Barba paused and took a drink, swallowing slowly. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but she could see the clouds in his eyes. He was miles and years away from her, and there was nothing she could do to shelter him from the pain he was feeling. See didn’t know the details that were coming, but her heart was already breaking for him.

“I was sitting behind the driver’s seat. The three of us were flying high on sugar and adrenaline, and Tracy and Ricky thought it was hilarious. They let us have our fun, let us be loud and restless. I remember being so _thankful_ that I was there with them, that I could be happy, be myself, I knew my father would’ve told me to sit down and be quiet. I met Ricky’s eyes in the mirror…” His voice cracked and she saw a tear roll down his cheek. She leaned closer, putting her arm around his shoulders.

He sniffed before drawing a steadying breath. “I met his eyes in the mirror, and he was laughing. That’s the last thing I could remember when I woke up in the hospital. The truck hit our side of the car and they had to use the jaws of life to get me out, but I don’t remember any of that. They said I was in and out of consciousness but I must’ve blocked it out. 

“Tracy was in the hospital for a few days, she had a broken arm and a concussion. Eddie and Albert were fine, not so much as a bruise on either of them. I didn’t have any broken bones, they said it was a miracle considering the way I was pinned.

“The driver in the other vehicle was okay, too. The only person who didn’t survive was a sixteen-year-old kid who loved his girlfriend, loved his family, got straight As and was a star athlete on track for a full scholarship to any school he wanted, who worked two part-time jobs and always did his chores, who was funny and charming and had a heart a mile fucking wide.”

He turned his head to look at her, fresh tears spilling from his eyes. “He was the best person I ever knew, he was my absolute hero, and he was my brother. Ricardo Emmanuel Barba.”

She sat in stunned silence, processing the shock of this unexpected piece of information. Her arm was around him and she squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but neither of them spoke for what felt like a long time as they sat looking at each other. She was crying, too, a reaction to his pain.

In all the years she’d known him, he’d never once mentioned a brother. She’d never even suspected he was anything other than an only child. 

“I’ve never told anyone. We never talk about it, about him.”

“Rafael.” Her voice cracked and she gave her head a little shake. She set her glass on the table and wrapped both arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He held his wine glass behind her back, his arm loose around her, but he buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I’m so sorry, Rafa. I’m so sorry.”

He drew a shaky breath and let it out in a hot puff against her skin. “The whole family fell apart. My mother didn’t get out of bed for weeks. My father started drinking and never really seemed to stop. My grandparents were heartbroken. 

“I tried to step into his shoes, tried to be what they needed, because I knew that it was my fault he was gone. And I know what you’re thinking.” He drew back and she let him go reluctantly, watching him swipe a hand over his wet cheeks. “I know it wasn’t my fault in any tangible way, but he was there because of me, he was distracted because of me. I tried to fill the hole he’d left but I wasn’t a shadow of him. I was a mostly C-student back then, bored with school, uninterested in sports, spending weekends at the train tracks with my friends, dreaming about theater and generally content to be the screw-up my father expected, the kid with his head in the clouds and no plan for the future.”

“You were just a boy,” she whispered.

“Not anymore,” he answered with an edge of bitterness in his voice. “I worked hard, brought up my grades, gave up silly dreams, stopped mouthing off. I did my best but I was never going to be enough. I realize that now, it was foolish to try. I wanted so badly to take away my mother’s pain and I didn’t understand why she could scarcely look at me. I get it. Now, I get it. We worked it out, you know? She loves me more than anything in the world, and I don’t blame her for the fact that she loved him a little bit more. I loved him more, too.

“We’re the only family we have left. We both know how important that is. But Christmas is hard for her.”

“And for you,” she said, laying her hand over his heart. “I’m sorry you’ve been alone.”

His face crumpled at that and he turned his head, dropping his chin down to his chest as he choked back a sob. She grabbed him automatically, holding him tightly, and he cried against her arm. “My father told me it should’ve been me,” he said, and there was so much pain and grief in the rawness of his voice, so much anguish in the confession, that she was glad his father was dead. 

“He was wrong,” she said.

“He was drunk. I don’t think he even remembered saying it. But I agreed with him.”

She moved her arm and put her hand against his wet cheek, gently turning his face toward her. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t in my life,” she told him, and she saw fresh tears pool in his eyes as he stared at her. “You’re my family, Rafael. Noah, you, and my squad. We’re family. I’m sure your brother was as great as you remember, but _you_ are the best man I’ve ever known. Not because you got yourself to Harvard, not because of your career or anything you accomplished. Because of this,” she said, patting lightly at his chest over his heart.

“My sweater?” he asked in a small attempt at humor.

“You don’t let everyone see your heart, I know that. We’ve both got walls, but...you let me see it, you let me in, and I thank you for that.”

“Well,” he said with a small smile, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, “that’s because I love you. At some point I gave up on trying to please everyone, but since meeting you I’ve found the only thing I want to be is good enough for you. To make you proud and happy. All I want is to be enough for you.”

She cupped her hands to his face and kissed him, closing her eyes as she drew a breath through her nose. She wanted to comfort and reassure him, but it was more than that. She’d spent years worrying about her feelings for him, afraid to act on them for fear of screwing up another relationship that was too important for her to risk losing. She knew how it felt to worry she wasn’t good enough, to doubt her own self-worth because of damage done by people who were supposed to love and protect her. 

He turned his face away, sliding his lips from hers, but then he turned back toward her and rested his forehead against hers. He let out a shaky breath, fanning her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to spring that on you.”

“It’s not the kiss I object to,” he answered, and she was glad to hear the hint of amusement in his voice. “Only the fact that I’m a crying, snotty mess, which isn’t how I wanted it to happen.”

“We can try again.” She stroked absently at the gray hair at his temples, relishing the weight of his forehead against hers.

“Here,” he said, drawing back and reaching over to set down his glass. He swiped his sleeve over his eyes and face, clearing away his drying tears, and she laughed quietly. He looked at her mouth and hesitated, swallowing hard before leaning forward to softly touch his lips to hers. 

He laid his palm against the side of her neck, tipping his head a little as he deepened the kiss, and she lowered one hand to hold onto a fistful of his sweater. He shifted closer and she leaned back against the sofa, letting him press her into the cushion. It was an awkward angle, his body twisted toward her, and she wanted more contact. 

He slipped his hand up under the hem of her shirt but stopped, letting his warm palm rest against her side. The contact against her bare skin sent a small shiver through her, making her fist tighten around the soft wool of his sweater. His tongue ventured slowly into her mouth, and his touch was tentative as his fingers slid a little higher toward her ribs.

She broke away from his kiss, turning her head.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, starting to draw back. 

She grabbed his hair and pulled him forward for another kiss, murmuring against his lips, “Don’t be sorry.” She met his eyes. “We deserve to do this right.” She got to her feet and held down a hand, which he took automatically, holding her steady stare as she pulled him to his feet. He leaned forward and brushed another kiss against her mouth before letting her lead him toward his bedroom.

He stripped out of his clothes slowly, watching her peel off her own. His eyes traveled over her scars, and she saw his expression twist as he stepped forward and reached for her. He slanted his mouth over hers, his touch growing bolder as his hands roamed her body, sliding over smooth, warm skin. “God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, tipping his head to nuzzle the side of her neck. “I’ve wanted you for so long…”

She pulled him back toward the bed and he fell over her, covering her body with his. She ran her hands over his shoulders and back, trying to touch all of him as he trailed openmouthed kisses along her collarbone and down to her chest. He sucked lightly at the swell of her breast, shifting to pull one hardened nipple into his mouth, and she arched toward him. She slipped a hand into his hair, squirming restlessly, but he seemed determined to take his time.

She could feel the urgency in his mouth, could feel the tension in his muscles, but his movements were unhurried as he learned every curve of her body, every scar, every freckle. 

Her body was trembling with need when he finally entered her, and she wrapped herself around him, holding onto him as they came together, muffling their sounds against each other’s skin. 

She continued to hold onto him after he’d carefully withdrawn from her body, and he drifted to sleep with his head tucked under her chin and his body half-draped over hers. She stroked his sweaty hair as his breathing gradually evened out, and she felt his grip tighten around her when she whispered that she loved him. 

She was sorry that he’d spent Christmas Day alone, mired in grief, but she vowed to herself it would never happen again. They deserved to be happy. They deserved a family, love. 

They deserved each other, and she wasn’t going to let either of them forget that. 


End file.
